


Dualscar ==> Have Some Fun

by twii2ted_8333335



Series: Tumblr Request Fics [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gills, Horn Stimulation, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Troll Gills, Xeno, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twii2ted_8333335/pseuds/twii2ted_8333335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Anonymous said:<br/>Nsfw writing req: (another Dom Condy and sub Dualscar? ;w; )</p>
</blockquote><br/><i>How long has this been in my inbox I’m so sorry omg</i><br/><br/>You hate being on land. You really do. You're a seadweller and a pirate and you constantly miss the rock of the boat and sounds of the waves against wood when you're on land. You don't know how your Empress does it so often, how she can stand being away from Alternia's sweet oceans.
            </blockquote>





	Dualscar ==> Have Some Fun

**Author's Note:**

> He's not really a pirate but I imagine a younger dualscar would like to pretend

You hate being on land. You really do. You're a seadweller and a pirate and you constantly miss the rock of the boat and sounds of the waves against wood when you're on land. You don't know how your Empress does it so often, how she can stand being away from Alternia's sweet oceans. 

You're here by force. Your ship's supplies was nearly empty and your men needed a rest from the stormy area you'd plowed through in a futile effort to chase down a lusus. And you suppose you could have easily stayed in your room on the ship but you stay in )(er Imperial Condescension's palace instead because like a fool you cling to the idea that perhaps you'll be able to see her in your spare time. Of course, that will never be the case. She's far too busy, unlike your other quadrant mates. She has no time to do as she pleases. Such is the life of loving an Empress. You don't mind some days. She's worth it. 

Sleep does not come easily to you as morning approaches. You didn't expect it would. Even in the fancy coon this room has, you can't seem to find yourself tired enough to close your eyes. You end up rinsing off the sopor and laying naked on your platform. You miss the sea. You miss your mate when you realize the lonely implications of your position. 

Time passes with you aware of each second. You think more on your mate, your Empress. A smile graces your lips as you think of previous encounters with her, both concupiscent and more conciliatory. A hand travels into your hair, lazily twirling it around a finger, and you have to pretend that the finger is more slender than your own. That the teasing up and down motion along your horn is your mate's and not your own sad touch. 

Your fingers — _her fingers_ — trail down your horns and to your jaw, your neck, over your gills. Your bulge becomes interested as the sensitive slits in your neck are teased and touched, feather light grazes of rough skin. Your legs spread a little, embarrassingly displaying your dampening nook to no one. You move on, not trying to over stimulate yourself or ruin the illusion, fingers tracing scars, teasing the sensitive areas of still healing scratches and bruises, your side gills; hey go down, down, down, until they find your bulge, fully unsheathed, and your nook, dripping violet and aching. 

You croon for your mate, a wordless, seadweller sound that you almost hope she hears from wherever she is. Your fingers tease the lips of your nook, dip into your entrance and you wait. You wait and wait and _wait_ but you're getting impatient. Your bulge is twisting around your wrist and you already have a finger inside your nook before you accept that she's just not going to come. That's not going to stop you from coming though. 

You tease yourself a while longer, still keening, still clinging to that hope that perhaps your mate will sense your want to be with her, to see her, to have her be the one stretching you wide with her fingers. Dragging her fingers out of you slowly. Chuckling softly as you whine over how empty you feel. 

Your bulge isn't as long as hers you realize. You don't really see the problem with that until you've got your rhythm down and you're getting closer to the end of this all. You can't hit half of the really sensitive parts of your nook consistently and it's more frustrating than teasing. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, running your fingers over your gills again, lifting your hips up to try and get your bulge deeper. You end up changing your attitude about it; instead of pining over the fact that you _just can't reach it_ , you avoid your sensitive spots altogether. It's easier to quietly beg for something not being given to you than actively searching for something you can't have. 

You swear you hear your mate's soft chuckling. "Aww, I thought my little Orphaner didn't beg?" 

You go to respond, just to fuel your imagination, but you're cut off by a gasp as your nail nicks the side of your gill. Your fins flutter up; you're so close, so so close, you just need that little extra push over the edge — 

Gods, that chuckle again, this time accompanied by the ghosting touch of your side gills. Are you still touching your neck? You can't tell. It's all a mess, a blur of pleasure and gasps and there's a finger flipping in beside your bulge and now you know something's off. You crack open your eyes and there stands your mate, flushed pink in the face, with her one hand touch your gills and the other fingering your nook. Your face heats up to a temperature you didn't know you could achieve with your blood color. 

"Vwowv — " You sound breathless even to your own ears. She smiles, presses another finger into your nook, and you howl as you finally reach your release. 

You catch her licking the remains of material off her fingers when you recover from your high. You half want to tell her to stop, that an empress shouldn't be doing such a dirty act, and half want to keep watching said act. You're still a little too hazy to speak. 

She kisses you softly, from your chest to your gills to your lips. You can faintly taste yourself on her lips now and you're not entirely sure how to feel about that. 

"Thought ta vwouldn't come this time around," you murmur against her when she doesn't stop kissing you any time soon. She climbs onto the platform and settles her hips on your stomach. 

"I made some free time for my favorite little matesprit," she coos in return, "it feels like sweeps since I saw you last and I know you were here a while ago." You think she may have genuinely missed you, and it makes your pumper flutter all the way into your throat. 

"What do you say we have a little fin tonight, my little capelin?" Fish puns. You hate when your crew does them but when she uses them they're just adorable. 

You chuckle roughly, your throat a little sore. A little fun never hurt anyone.


End file.
